25 Days of Fic
by Smiley Smackdown
Summary: 25 Christmas-themed ficlets, mostly centering around Les Amis. Update: Cookies (Jehan/Montparnasse): Jehan bakes cookies for Santa. Montparnasse doesn't understand why he can't eat them. Trickery ensues on both sides.
1. Mistletoe

It was Christmas Eve, and the Musain was empty. Well, almost empty. Tucked away deep in the back room, two students remained, each at his usual place. The one, Enjolras, was composing one of his famous speeches, devoting his whole attention to it. The cafe could burn down around him, and he wouldn't notice. The fair-haired revolutionary would simply continue to write, to serve his precious Patria, until he was physically incapable of it.

The other, Grantaire, was also devoting his attention to something, or rather, someone. Enjolras to be specific. Enjolras was to Grantaire what the revolution was to Enjolras: everything. He was Grantaire's every word, every thought, every breath. Of course, even when drunk (and he was absolutely drunk, as usual, absolutely, completely, beyond a doubt drunk), he would never tell a soul. No, instead he watched his golden angel, his Apollo, from afar, hoping one day to be able to make the truth known.

Finally, after a few hours of writing, Enjolras rose from his seat, gathering up his papers. If he had noticed Grantaire's attention, or even his presence, he didn't say anything. Suddenly, as Enjolras made his way to the door, Grantaire jumped up from his seat, his steady, determined pace concealing the growing pit of fear in his stomach (Or was that the absinthe? It was so dreadfully difficult for him to discern between the two sometimes.). At this point, he was moving on pure instict. If asked, he couldn't explain the cause, the motive. He simply followed where his feet led him.

"Grantaire?" Enjolras asked, finally noticing his shadow. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was quickly silenced as Grantaire kissed him, pushing the revolutionary against the door frame. It was over as quickly as it had begun, both students gazing at each other, one shocked, one pleased.

"Grantaire, what was that?!" Enjolras exclaimed, beyond confused. He tried to pull away, but Grantaire's arm had latched onto his waist, keeping him close.

"You should be more careful about where you stand, dear Apollo," Grantaire whispered teasingly into the blonde's ear and he pointed up at the tiny green plant dangling from the doorway. Enjolras examined it for a minute before returning his gaze to Grantaire, a strange look in his eyes. As if on a sudden impulse, Enjolras tentatively pressed his lips to Grantaire's, pulling the taller man closer, making him feel-

'Thud!'

The cafe door slammed shut, waking Grantaire from his absinthe-induced reverie. He looked around the room, but his Apollo was nowhere to be found.

"Just a dream then," he sighed, addressing his empty bottle. "A clever trick, my friend, sending Morpheus to me to weave such a tale. Well played, well played." And with that, he stumbled drunkenly home, passing under the mistletoe above the door without a second glance.


	2. Hot Chocolate

If there was one thing Grantaire had gotten very good at during his time with Les Amis, it was observing. Of course, he loved to join in the conversation every now and then, weaving together stories of gods and mortals that could be at the same time insightful and baffling, optimistic and pessimistic, loving and hateful. However, his favorite thing to do was simply sit back and watch the others interact. One student in particular never failed to hold his attention.

The aforementioned student, the golden-haired Enjolras, was currently curled up at one of the tables, a large volume on the history of the Revolution in his lap. He was shivering, arms wrapped tightly around himself, teeth chattering ever so slightly. The others didn't seem to pay any mind to these tiny details, but Grantaire did. He paid attention to everything when it came to his beloved Apollo.

Suddenly, an idea popped into Grantaire's head. He got up from his seat and went up to the bar, speaking with Louison for a minute or so. She smiled knowingly at him, going back into the kitchen for a minute before returning with a large mug. Grantaire thanked her before making his way over to Enjolras, hesitating for a moment before tapping the young revolutionary on the shoulder.

"What is it?" he asked, a bit dazed. Grantaire said nothing (he always had trouble finding the right words when he was so close to his Apollo), offering the mug instead.

"Grantaire, for the last time, I will not drink," Enjolras huffed, turning back to his work, curled up around himself once more.

Not in the least bit discouraged, Grantaire responded cheerfully, "Oh, Apollo, I gave up on introducing you to the joys of Dionysus' vine long, long ago. It's just hot chocolate. Perhaps now your body will be as warm as those ideals you hold so dear." Enjolras looked up at him, seemingly confused and pensive. Grantaire felt rather proud of himself for breaking through his angel's usually cold reserve.

"Well, thank you then," Enjolras replied gently, taking the offered mug. Grantaire thought the soft words sounded strange coming from such a powerful, uncompromising figure. But it seemed even his darling Apollo had a human, vulnerable side, as Grantaire was beginning to see more and more often.

"Anything for you," he whispered so quietly that even he could hardly hear himself. He quickly scuttled away to his table in the back, where he could watch Enjolras from afar. He watched as the hot chocolate begin its work immediately. Already, Enjolras had stopped shivering and was once again hard at work inspiring the others. As he spoke, his eyes burned with a fire that was, as cliche as Grantaire knew it was, brighter than the sun. Grantaire smiled fondly. Enjolras might not notice him much now, but perhaps one day he would look at Grantaire with that same fire, that same love, in his eyes.


	3. Snow

White, white, everything was white, and everyone in Paris was rejoicing. The pathway leading to the Musain was coated in a layer of white, powdery snow. A snowman, dressed in a stylish hat (Courfeyrac's, no doubt) and a lavender waistcoat (surely Jehan's, only he would wear such a garish thing), stood outside to greet passers-by.

Enjolras and Combeferre walked up to the door, discussing some new censoring law. They were deeply engrossed in the conversation, completely ignoring the wintery wonderland that had appeared around them.

'Fwack!'

A snowball, seeming to have fallen mysteriously out of the sky, hit Combeferre on the back of the head. The two students stopped in their tracks, looking at each other in confusion. However, the confusion didn't remain for long. A few feet away, a large wall of snow seemed to be laughing.

"Courfeyrac, Jehan, come out from there!" Combeferre scolded, shaking the snow out of his hair. Two flushed, grinning faces popped up from behind the snow.

"Awwwww, but, 'Ferre, it's the first snow of the year," Courfeyrac pouted. "Lighten up, have a little fun!"

"Isn't so beautiful?" Jehan exclaimed enthusiastically as he was trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue. "The whole world is white and fresh and new. You can't just ignore such beauty and work all day. You have to enjoy it."

"I know you two are excited," Combeferre began in his so-called teacher voice, "but the world won't stop turning just because a bit of snow fell down from the sky. The poor, the abased, are still suffering, and it's our responsibility to-"

'Fwoosh!'

Combeferre was quickly silenced as two snowballs flew out from behind him, one colliding with Jehan's chest and the other hitting Courfeyrac square in the face.

Combeferre turned around, staring at the smirking blonde behind him in complete shock. Courfeyrac's jaw had dropped just about as far as humanly possible (maybe even a bit farther); Jehan was sputtering, unable to form a complete sentence.

"B-but... you... Enjolras... serious... Patria... ... ... what?" the poet pitifully stammered.

"I think we can manage a little break, can't we 'Ferre?" Enjolras asked teasingly. "After all, these two could use a little practice in the art of war."

"You have a good point," Combeferre conceded. Now that the initial shock had faded, the two were as in sync as ever, reading each other's minds with a simple glance. Combeferre turned to look at Courfeyrac and Jehan with a devious grin. The duo gulped nervously, glancing at each other. Enjolras and Combeferre didn't get into a mischievous mood very often, but whenever they did it meant trouble.

Combeferre and Enjolras jumped into action. 'Ferre rushed to build up a protective wall of snow while Enjolras hurled snowball after snowball at the others. Having recovered from their momentary shock, Jehan and Courfeyrac dove behind their 'barricade' of snow, cackling joyfully as they fired snowballs away. Unlike Enjolras' precisely aimed projectiles, their snowballs went every which way. No civilians were safe from their poorly aimed shots. The four boys shouted and giggled as they continued to wage their war.

"And away she goes!" Jehan exclaimed, hurling a particularly large snowball... right into Joly.

"Ahhhh!" the hypochondriac shrieked (in a masculine and dignified manner, he would later maintain), rushing to wipe away all the snow clinging to his body. "Jehan, be more careful. I already have a cold. How would you feel if I got infuenza and died, all because you throw like a drunken man who's just been reunited with his favorite drink?" He sneezed after he had finished speaking, as if to emphasize his point. His two companions didn't seem nearly so distraught.

"You started without me?" Bahorel complained, sounding more like a child than a brawler. "Well, better late than never, I suppose!" With a hearty laugh, he rushed to join in the fight. Bossuet followed, dragging a reluctant Joly along with him.

The battle continued for about an hour or so before the seven students finally collapsed onto the snow beneath them, completely drained. Courfeyrac was still cracking up over a particularly good assault he had made on Combeferre (with a miraculously well-aimed shot, he had managed to knock 'Ferre's glasses right off of his face). Jehan idly started to make a snow angel.

Soon, Feuilly and Grantaire arrived, bickering over the merits of alcohol in art. They shot the group a highly quizzical look, but before they could comment Enjolras had gotten up, shaking off the snow that had been coating him. He led the others into the Musain, where their boisterous conversations, animated boasting, and peals of laughter were heard throughout the night. 


	4. Candy Canes

Ever since he was little, Joly had always loved candy canes. He could remember clearly the day he first tried one. His father had come back from a trip to Germany unexpectedly, just in time for Christmas. With him, he had brought back a single stick of peppermint candy. It certainly wasn't the grandest gift Joly had ever received, but for whatever reason it stuck out in his mind. Maybe it was how the peppermint scent cleared his sinuses. Maybe it was because when he flipped the candy cane over, it was one of his initials. Or maybe it was simply because it reminded him of his father.

During Joly's first year in Paris, his father had died. Consumption, they said. It was inevitable, they said. But no one could stop Joly from blaming himself. He thought that perhaps if he had studied harder, if he had gotten through his schooling faster, he might've been able to save him. He knew deep down inside that it was ridiculous, of course it wasn't his fault, but for whatever reason he couldn't truly believe it. The second half of the year was rough on him. He had trouble sleeping; he could barely keep any food down. His usual complaints of colds and fevers had disappeared, in fact he rarely spoke at all.

Finally, Bossuet decided that enough was enough. He convinced Joly to let him move in, claiming that Joly might counteract some of his bad luck. From there, he gradually helped Joly to heal. By the end of the year, Joly was, for the most part, back to normal. His enthusiasm, his hypochondria, all of the little quirks that made him Jolllly were back in place. Bossuet never did move out though. Some bonds can't be broken.

Just because Joly had recovered from his father's death didn't mean he had forgotten him. So when Bossuet returns to their shared apartment to find it filled with peppermint candy, he doesn't say anything. It's just one of those things that they accept about each other without question, like Joly's constant need to rearrange the furniture ("It's magnetics," he would attempt to explain) and Bossuet's frequent accidents. It is a part of who they were. And Bossuet wouldn't have it any other way.

**A/N:** Thank you so much to Gavroche T for the reviews. They really make my day. :)


	5. Christmas Tree

"Jehan, what is that?" Feuilly asked, staring at the large green thing that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the cafe. The tree, or what might've once been a tree, was wrapped in ribbon, with little pieces of paper (verses of poetry, no doubt) dangling from the branches. It was surrounded by a group of colorfully wrapped boxes, eight to be exact. Jehan was busily filling the rest of the room with bunches of evergreen branches, either in wreaths or chains.

"It's a Christmas tree!" Jehan answered animatedly. "It's the latest thing. See, it's green even in the cold and snow. Don't you see? It's like happiness thriving even where there is sorrow."

"Or it's like the People, who somehow live on even through the hardships the monarchy places upon them," Enjolras added pensively.

"You agree with him?" Bahorel asked, slightly surprised at his friend. Honestly, all these 'meaningful' decorations seemed like a waste to him. Give him a barrel of beer and a room full of friends over silly trees and wreaths any day.

"What's wrong with a little Christmas spirit?" Courfeyrac asked, quickly taking Jehan's side. Unlike Bahorel, Courfeyrac adored Christmas decorations. To him, they were like a physical manifestation of everything he loved about the holidays: love, friendship, merriment. He walked over to Jehan and took some of the wreaths, rushing to hang them up around the cafe. Soon, the rest of the friends had joined in, even Grantaire and Bahorel. Feuilly had painted a few crystal spheres, and he hung them from the tree. The candlelight reflected off of them to create an almost magical look.

By the time the students had finished, the cafe had been completely transformed. Garland and wreaths lined the walls, fake snow coated the tables and floor, red and green candles added a bright light and warmth to the atmosphere. At the center of the room, the Christmas tree stood tall and proud.

"Just one final touch," Jehan whispered, reaching into his bag. He pulled out a large, golden star. However, it was no ordinary Christmas star. Inscibed upon the points were the names of France's most famous revolutionaries. At the center, a blood red ruby could be seen, a reminder of their own upcoming efforts on behalf of Freedom. Once Jehan placed the star at the top of the tree, the spell was complete. Somehow, the eight students felt as though there were great things ahead for them. They also felt certain that no matter what laid ahead, their memories of the Christmas of 1831 would always be carried in their hearts.


	6. Angel

In December, the streets of Paris always seemed to freeze over. The well to-do would spend the winter evenings at home or in the cafes, gathered a round a toasty fire with plenty of warm food and holiday cheer for all. The children would dream of Santa and magic, while the adults would dream of the fantastic holiday parties. All were overjoyed to greet the Christmas season.

The poor, on the other hand, continued in their endless misery. They had no homes and no warm fires. In fact, they were lucky if they had homes at all. Many of the restaurants and inns would turn them away for their smell or for their appearance. They were 'bad for business.'

And so, Courfeyrac and Enjolras had found themselves a Christmas tradition, the former for the sake of his heart and the latter for the advancement of his ideals. Every year, on the 23rd of December, they would venture together into the poorest areas of the city, laden with food and gifts. From sundown 'til sunrise, they visited as many citizens as possible, leaving a meal and wishes of goodwill.

It was on one of these trips that the duo discovered little Maxime. He was only about six years old at the time, already alone in the world. He was curled up in an alley, nothing to warm his tembling body except for a thin sheet. If it weren't for his muffled cries, Enjolras and Grantaire would've missed him completely.

"Petit, why are you all alone?" Courfeyrac asked as he approached. It broke his heart to see one so young so broken.

"Got nowhere to go," the child whimpered sadly. "Maman is dead 'n Papa left a long time ago. Got nobody."

"Come with us," Enjolras spoke up, kneeling down to meet the little boy's eyes. "You can stay with me until we find you a home, alright?" Courfeyrac smiled at his friend's immediate generosity. People claimed the blonde was a cold, heartless statue, but Courfeyrac knew that wasn't true. No, after seeing how gentle and kind Enjolras always was around the poor made it clear how loving and alive he truly was. "What's your name?"

"M-m-maxime," the boy stuttered, simultaneously excited and confused. He wasn't used to people being so kind to him.

"That's a lovely name. You know, there was a great Frenchman named Maxime, one of the best," Enjolras commented.

"Are you an angel?" little Maxime asked as Enjolras scooped him up into his arms. The revolutionary was caught completely off-guard. He had absolutely no idea how to respond. Luckily, Courfeyrac was not so tongue-tied.

"Of course he is!" the curly-haired student piped up, cutting off Enjolras' protests. "God sent him down to Earth to help the People, like you."

"Really?" the boy asked, staring at the 'angel' in pure awe. "Is Maman there in heaven? Is she waiting for me?"

This time Enjolras knew exactly what to say. "Yes, she is," he answered, a smile gracing his features. "She talks about you all the time. She still watches after you, you know. Every day, she looks down on you from heaven, from the moment you wake up until you're fast asleep.

"Did she send you?"

"Of course, love," Enjolras whispered, kissing Maxime gently on the forehead. The child was already drifting off to sleep, comfortable in the arms of his protector. Once they made it back to Enjolras' apartment, which he shared with Combeferre, the two students carefully laid Maxime on one of the beds, trying not to wake him. Courfeyrac left shortly after they had finished. He knew the child was in good hands.

* * *

Years later, in 1848, a new group of students would rise up and fight for Freedom, for the People, for Patria. One particular student, a boy of about twenty three years, seemed particularly devoted to the cause. Whenever anyone asked him about his motivation, he would simply reply, "Once, when I was little and starving, I met an angel. As he lifted me, I will lift the People. I will make his vision a reality." And somewhere in Heaven, a blonde angel smiled down upon him.


	7. Pie

"Haha! Merci, monsieur!" Gavroche called out triumphantly as he fled the pastry shop, the angry baker on his tail hollering at him. Sadly for the baker, Gavroche was far to quick for their to even be any point in a chase. Gavroche skipped through the streets he knew so well, laughing and singing as he went. In his arms he cradled his prize: a freshly baked apple pie. He could see the steam floating off it into the cold Parisian air.

"Smells delicious," he whispered to himself as he started to look for a place where he could enjoy his tasty treat. As he searched, he noticed two little girls huddled close together in an alleyway. The older girl, perhaps a year or two younger than Gavroche, was handing the younger one, presumably her sister, a mangled piece of bread. Gavroche knew enough of the streets to guess that she was giving her sister the only food she had and that she herself had probably already gone days without food. This was why they needed change. This was why he was so determined to help those rowdy students at the Musain.

Gavroche continued on his way, more subdued now. He thought back on his own childhood (for he considered himself to be a man now, a man of the streets). When he had first been sent away from his home, he had no idea how to survive on his own. He knew nothing of pickpocketing, of begging, or of any of the other useful tricks he's picked up over the years. Luckily for him, an older boy named Pierre had found him and taught him the ways of the streets.

"Now, Gavroche," he would instruct, the serious look on his face unable to mask the twinkle in his eye, "always remember to look out for those littler than you. We 'street rats' need to stick together." Of all the lessons Pierre had taught him, this one stuck out the most in his mind. After all, this principle was the reason Pierre had saved him in the first place. He ought to do the same.

And so Gavroche found himself turning back around and returning to the little girls. "Bonjour, mam'selles," he greeted in a mockery of some wealthy man. His plan worked; the girls immediately began to laugh at him, the tension easing quickly. They could see he was one of them. "Say, I just nicked this pie off of Old Man Lumiere down the road, but I've already eaten. Do you two want it?"

The younger sister immediately reached for the proffered pie, but the elder held her back. "Oh, no, we couldn't. You're the one who took it. And sous don't grow on trees."

"Take it," Gavroche urged. "Just promise that whenever you see another child hurting, you'll think of this pie and help 'im. After all, we little people have to stick together." After one last winning smile, Gavroche had finally convinced the girls to take the pie. They dug into it ravenously, eyes glowing as if they were in heaven. Gavroche's own stomach let out a low rumble. He sighed and began to walk away when suddenly the younger girl ran up and tugged on his pants.

"M'sieur, m'sieur, here," she exclaimed with a toothy grin, holding out a single slice of pie. Gavroche smiled gratefully, taking the pie and eating it as he walked back to his elephant. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that that one slice of pie tasted far better than all the food in the world, knowing that it had also brought smiles to those girls' faces.


	8. Tinsel

**A/N**: I guess this one is a bit odd as far as pairing choice goes and a bit abrupt, too. But here it is: a modern au with established Montparnasse/Jehan.

The first time Montparnasse visited Jehan during the holidays, he was quite convinced that Christmas had thrown up in the young student's apartment, leaving behind a vast array of gaudy decorations and lights. There was really no other way to describe it. Of course, coming from Jehan, the boy who was quite convinced that paisleys and stripes went perfectly together thank-you-very-much, it shouldn't have been too surprising.

Jehan had colorful lights strung up in a netting-like formation on the ceiling. Dangling from these was a large, eclectic collection of ornaments, some of which seemed to be older than Jehan while others looked more like a Kindergarten arts-and-crafts project. Garish tinsel in reds, greens, and golds also hung down from the light strings. In the corner by the window was a large Christmas tree, so tall that it looked like it had been forcibly shoved into its spot. The tree was even more gaudy and over the top than the rest of the apartment, if that was at all possible. So yes, Christmas had indeed thrown up in the young poet's home. And strangely enough, he seemed rather proud of it.

"So, what do you think?" Jehan asked, trying to hide the excitement in his eyes. Montparnasse stifled a laugh. It wouldn't do to make the boy cry, not after last time.

"It's very… you," he finally commented.

Jehan, completely oblivious to Montparnasse's amusement, carried on describing his 'artistic vision.' Montparnasse tried his best to at least appear to be focusing on his friend's words, but honestly, he didn't care about interior decorating in the least, nor about how Christmas was like 'a light shining through winter's darkness and cold.' Finally he decided he could take no more.

"And so I finally found the right lights, and then I-" Jehan's eyes widened in shock as his companion silenced him with a deep, desperate kiss. After the few seconds it took him to fully comprehend what was happening, the poet eagerly responded, almost shoving Montparnasse down onto the bed in eagerness. The two rolled around enthusiastically, wound as tightly together as the light strings shining above them.

After awhile, Montparnasse pulled away, a satisfied smirk on his face. "You know, I think that tinsel would look far better on you than it does just dangling there," he teased.

"Perhaps it would," Jehan replied, his usually innocent guise shattered by the dark gleam in his eyes, the desperate grasps he made at Montparnasse's hair. And after that night, Montparnasse decided that maybe, just maybe, Christmas decorations weren't always so bad (at least not when they were decorating his favorite poet instead of the room).


	9. Ice Skating

It was the annual school ice-skating event, and the Seine was filled with excited students. Julien Enjolras normally wouldn't bother with something so trivial. Unfortunately for him, Leon Courfeyrac loved ice skating, and, as usual, he had been very persuasive. As icy as Julien might seem, he truly did want to make his friends happy, and he knew this would definitely make Leon very happy. And so he went and tried his best to enjoy it for his friend's sake. He had originally been skating with his other dear friend, Antoine Combeferre, but the studious boy had to go for his internship, leaving the blonde on his own.

As he was gliding gracefully on the ice, he noticed Nicolas Grantaire sitting by the bank. Nicolas had been his childhood friend, almost his brother. Sadly, Nicolas's mother had died when he was only 14, and he had turned to alcohol to ease the pain. Julien couldn't bear to watch his friend become an empty shell. And thus the two, once inseparable, drifted apart.

Julien studied his old friend carefully, noting the almost longing expression on Nicolas's face. 'Maybe now he'll be willing to see reason,' he thought to himself as he skated towards the other student. The thing about Julien was that he never truly gave up on people. He saw both who they were and who they could be. In Nicolas, he saw the potential for something beautiful. And so he decided that if this was his chance to help Nicolas get one step closer to that potential, then it was his responsibility to take it. Also, if he was completely honest with himself, he had missed his old friend dearly, though he would never ever ever admit it out loud.

Nicolas didn't notice Julien approaching until he was right in front of him, at which point he promptly jumped to his feet (and fell immediately back into the snow). "Julien! I-it's been awhile!" the brunette stammered, embarrassed at his clumsiness.

"Why are you off by yourself?" Julien asked curiously. Normally, even when drunk, Nicolas liked to be around people. Much like Leon, he seemed to thrive on social energy.

"Well, Apollo, sadly I don't have your natural grace. I'd just as soon fall on my ass as ice skate, and why would I want to do that?" Julien almost laughed at that. When they were little, Nicolas had insisted on calling him Apollo ("because you're like the sunshine," the little boy would explain animatedly). Hearing that nickname brought back so many old, long-forgotten memories.

Suddenly, he got an idea. "Say, Nicolas, let's make a bet. If I can teach you to skate by the end of the day, you don't drink for a week."

"And if I win?" the brunette asked, curiosity piqued.

"Anything… within reason. And no, alcohol is not within reason."

"Alright, it's a bet," Nicolas declared firmly.

Julien reached out a single hand to Nicolas, helping the other student rise to his feet. It was a simple gesture, economical as Julien always was with such things, yet to Nicolas it seemed to be something more: a fresh start. Maybe this time they could remain friends. Maybe this time he wouldn't screw everything up.

Nicolas hadn't been kidding about his lack of ice skating skills. Every few minutes he would topple to the ice, pulling Julien down with him. At first he had been mortified. Here Julien was finally interacting with him again, and yet he was acting like a fool. However, Julien simply helped him back onto his feet and continued his efforts. The young blonde seemed almost gentle (but no, that was impossible. Julien wasn't gentle. He was fierce and strong and forever uncompromising).

And gradually, miraculously, Nicolas began to improve. The falls grew less and less frequent. The duo glided up and down the ice, laughing and grinning as they recounted their old adventures, caught up with each other's lives, just talked and talked and talked. Nicolas heard more about politics than he knew possible, and Julien learned a fair bit about art. With their current ease around each other, it was difficult for either of them to remember that they had been so distant from each other for so many years.

Eventually, Julien and Nicolas realized they were the only ones left on the ice. In their fervor, they hadn't noticed the steady trickle of students disappearing. All they could see was each other.

"I'd say it's time we head back," Julien spoke almost somberly.

"You won. Why aren't you happier?" Nicolas questioned. "I'd expect you to be gloating by now."

"Well, I'm surely happy about that. I mean, anything to keep you from falling back into your drinking habit again. But…," Julien trailed off, struggling to find the right words. He hated this. Words flowed to him naturally; he shouldn't be having so much trouble expressing himself right now.

"But?"

"I've missed you," Julien blurted out, almost shocked that he had spoken it aloud yet unable to silence himself. "I've missed talking to you and spending time with you and just you in general. But I couldn't stand to watch you tear yourself apart like you had been, and I was terrified that one day I would wake up to find you dead. I just, I…" By this point, Julien was almost in tears. He was finally letting out all his secrets, all those emotions he had kept buried under his statue-like facade.

Nicolas watched his friend in utter shock. He was seeing a side of the boy that he had never seen before, had never had the privilege to see. And suddenly, he found himself setting his own secrets free as well. He gently pulled Julien closer to him, lowering his head ever so slightly, softly brushing his lips against those of his Apollo. To his surprise (though it's hard to believe that anything could have surprised him by this point), Julien not only accepted the kiss but returned it with fervor. At the same moment, everything finally clicked in their minds and they pulled apart, breathless and flushed in the cold wintry air, simply gazing into each other's eyes with mingled affection and anticipation.

* * *

Little did they know they had a secret observer. Leon Courfeyrac watched from afar as the two had almost danced around each other (both literally and figuratively) before finally kissing in the middle of the ice. He took in Julien's almost radiant joy with a happiness of his own. It had been so long since he had seen his friend so happy, so real, so heart-warmingly alive. When he met up with the other students at their usual spot, he didn't say a word, not wanting to break that ever-so-fragile bond that was just beginning to form. However, anyone who saw the warm smile threatening to devour his face could tell that something magical had happened on the ice that night.

**A/N: **Thank you so much to Gavroche T and Orestes Fallen for the reviews. You should know that I was bouncing up and down in joy when I saw them. :)


	10. Frost

Grantaire woke up to the sight of dawn peeking out from behind the clouds. Shivering, he immediately sat up and closed the window. It had been warm the night before, so he had left the window open. Now, however, it was quite chilly out, and a thin layer of frost had formed on both sides of the window.

Grantaire looked over to his other side, where an angel was sleeping beside him. Enjolras… Grantaire could still hardly believe what had happened between the two of them, the love that had begun to blossom like one of Prouvaire's flowers. Just that night, Enjolras had said he loved him. Someone as perfect as Enjolras loved _him_. Grantaire just couldn't believe it.

Currently, the student in question was cocooned tightly in the covers, body shaking slightly from the cold, cheeks flushed a soft, rosy pink. His golden hair was pillowed around him like a halo. The sunlight seemed to cast a warm glow on his porcelain skin, adding to the magic that had completely ensnared Grantaire. It always amazed Grantaire how youthful and innocent Enjolras appeared when he was asleep. Once the weight of his precious Republic was lifted from his shoulders, he seemed genuinely serene. Grantaire reached forward and gently brushed a few stray curls off of his sleeping angel's face. Enjolras leaned into the touch, smiling softly in his sleep.

Grantaire suddenly felt a compulsion he hadn't felt in years. He glanced around the room, but seeing no paper he turned to the window instead. In the frost, he began to sketch his lover's outline. He was in deep concentration, channeling an artistic spirit that had been buried by alcohol for so long. He began to add more details to his creation, trying to capture Enjolras' entire essence in his icy canvas. His fingers deftly swirled to form his angel's curls and soft features (for Enjolras seemed so much softer whilst asleep).

Suddenly, the figure beside him began to stir. Enjolras sat up slowly, sleep still clinging to him like a blanket, leaving his crystal blue eyes disoriented and hazy. "Grantaire?" he whispered softly, speech slightly slurred. "What are you doing?" He wrapped his arms around Grantaire, leaning on him.

"Nothing, nothing," Grantaire responded, wiping away the frost and with it his masterpiece. There would be time for drawing later. For now, it was time to love and be loved. It was time to live.

**A/N**: Just to warn you, I am a native Floridian. I have seen snow 3 times in my life at most. Therefore, any particularly wintery prompts might seem a bit off. :)


	11. Eggnog

"Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?" Jehan hiccuped, stumbling his way through the final lines of one of his favorite poems. Joly applauded vigorously, jumping up on unsteady legs and embracing his friend, causing both of them to fall to the ground in a muddled heap.

How did these two eccentric yet still quite intelligent students end up such a mess? Well, it all started when Feuilly left a mysterious box in the Musain. Within the box were several jars of eggnog along with a note stating that the eggnog was not to be messed with, as he had added far too much alcohol. Rather than waste it, he figured they could sneak it to the National Guard or something. Having seen the note, there was only one thing for Joly and Jehan to do: drink all the eggnog. And so they had spent the past hour or so far past the point of inebriation.

"Say, Jolllly," Jehan spoke slowly, lethargically, "do you know any poems? Any pretty ones?"

"Noooo," Joly responded. "But I know… magnets! Yes, I know magnets."

"Could you introduce me?" Jehan asked, utterly confused. Magnets seemed like a strange name for a poem. Maybe Joly was talking about a writer? Or perhaps a flower? 'Yes, flowers are quite nice,' Jehan thought sleepily as he gradually faded into unconsciousness.

* * *

Courfeyrac and Bossuet walked into the Musain, only to find Jehan and Joly fast asleep in the center of the room. Surrounding them were the bottles of eggnog, all empty, as well as the note. After reading it, it was quite clear to the duo what had transpired.

"Well, it looks like Jehan and Joly have grown quite mischievous," Courfeyrac noted with a lighthearted grin on his face. "Bossuet, you handle your hypochondriac. I've got Jehan." With that said, Courfeyrac lifted the young poet off the ground with ease, leaving the cafe and carrying him back to his apartment.

"Oh, Jolllly, what am I going to do with you?" Bossuet asked no one in particular as he moved to pick up his sleeping friend. Joly, however, chose that moment to shift his arms, one of his elbows jabbing Bossuet right in the face. "Oww! Oh, I really should be used to these things by now," he muttered as he finally succeeded in scooping Joly up in his arms. Somehow they made it back home with only a few accidents along the way.

* * *

The next morning, however, was not nearly so pleasant for our other pair…

"COURFEYRAC, WHAT ON EARTH AM I DOING IN YOUR BED?!" Jehan cried out in shock as Courfeyrac rushed out of the room, laughing heartily and runnign for his life.


	12. Cider

On one particularly icy Parisian night, two students were curled up in their apartment, wrapped in sweaters and warm knit blankets. The older, Combeferre, was carefully examining a book on the proper care of moths, a beloved hobby of his. The other, Enjolras, was writing a letter to some fellow revolutionaries in Lyon. A fire crackled in the background. Occasionally, Combeferre would call out some interesting fact, or Enjolras would ask for help in finding a particular word. Other than that, however, they remained in a comfortable, familiar silence.

As the cold began to grow fiercer, Combeferre arose from his chair to fetch the cider he had been heating in the fire. He offered a glass to Enjolras, a teasing smile on his face.

"Did I miss something, 'Ferre?" Enjolras asked, tilting his head in confusion as he accepted the glass. The cider was toasty warm, a relief in such cold weather.

"Do you remember the first time you tried cider?" Combeferre asked in response. At Enjolras' baffled gaze, he continued, "Well, ..."

* * *

"'Ferre, 'Ferre, look how high I can climb!" a young Enjolras cried out in delight as he pulled himself up the tree.

""Enjy, come down! You're not s'pposed to go that high!" Combeferre shouted, watching his friend nervously. He was going awfully high, far higher than Combeferre had ever climbed. Not that Combeferre cared much for climbing at all; he had never had his friend's daring enthusiasm for adventure.

"Don't worry so much. I'm fine!" Enjolras replied confidantly, waving cheerily at his friend. However, he was so distracted by the other boy that he lost his footing. He gave a cry of shock as he slipped, grasping desperately at the branches. Combeferre rushed to catch his friend, both boys toppling onto the ground with a thud.

When 'Ferre got up, he noticed the young blonde wasn't moving, and there was a thin trickle of blood running down his head. Feeling even more nervous than before, Combeferre picked Enjolras up and struggled to carry him back to his house.

Mme. Combeferre was quite calm about the whole situation. She placed Enjolras carefully on the couch before tending to his injuries. "Nothing too severe," she commented. Her son gave a sigh of relief, trusting his mother to save his friend.

Once Enjolras finally woke up again, he was quite confused to say the least. Mme. Combeferre gently explained what had happened before chiding him for being so reckless. After convincing the stubborn boy to promise never to try something like that again, she handed him a glass of apple cider, "to make you feel better, love." He sipped at it cautiously, the pain slowly being replaced by sweetness and warmth.

* * *

Enjolras laughed, a sound like music to Combeferre's ears. "I can't believe I forgot about that!" he exclaimed. Well, 'Ferre, do you remember...?" And so the evening was spent repainting pictures of their past, cider in their bodies and warmth in their hearts.


	13. Peppermint

**A/N**: This one's another modern AU. Enjoy! :)

It had been sitting there innocently on Julien Enjolras' books when he returned to his usual table in the library: a bag of peppermint candy. There was no label, just the bag. Julien looked around the area carefully but saw no clues as to who had left the candy there.

Shrugging, he sat down and popped a few of the peppermint pieces into his mouth before continuing with his work. With Christmas came exams, and with exams came a sudden burst of work. For one week, Julien put his studies before his politics. Usually, Combeferre was the only one who would even see him at this time of year, and that was just because they shared a dorm.

After many hours of working, Julien decided to rest (just for a minute, he assured himself). The second his head made it to the table he was out like a light. He didn't wake up when everyone began to trickle out of the library, nor when a familiar figure came over to him, draping a blanket over his shoulders before sitting down across from him. He certainly didn't notice the sweet, almost loving looks being shot at him by said figure. He was lost in dreamland.

When Enjolras finally woke up, he raised his head slowly, disoriented blue eyes gazing around the room in confusion. Those eyes widened when they spotted the boy sitting in front of him. "Nicolas?" he asked blearily.

"So Sleeping Beauty has finally woken up?" Nicolas Grantaire asked teasingly, earning a glare in response. "Yup, judging by that look, definitely awake. Now come on, I'm taking you back to your dorm."

"I can't. I still need to do so much," Julien protested as Nicolas began to gather up his books.

"No, what you need is sleep. In a real bed, not on some dirty table," Nicolas replied cutting off Julien's weak protests. He was feeling sleepy, and there would be time to study in the morning. After a little more internal debate, Julien reluctantly stood up, allowing Nicolas to lead him out of the library.

The winter air was ice cold, and Julien was quite thankful for the blanket he still had wrapped around him. Snowflakes were falling from the sky. Julien laughed as Nicolas danced around the sidewalk, catching the tiny ice crystals on his tongue. The duo chuckled and chattered their way back to the dorms, enjoying the magic of the wintery night.

"Merry Christmas, Julien!" Nicolas shouted out as Julien walked towards his door. Julien turned around, looking at the goofy brunette for a moment before rushing back to him and placing a soft, peppermint-flavored kiss on his lips. It ended just as quickly as it had begun, both boys looking at each other with a mix of shyness and blushing excitement.

"Thank you," Julien whispered softly, brushing his lips against Nicolas's once more. He then left, disappearing into his dorm. Nicolas stood there in shock, not entirely sure of what just happened. He smiled to himself as he walked back to his own room, deciding to give Julien another bag of peppermints tomorrow.


	14. Gingerbread

The scent of sugar and spices could be found throughout the small apartment. Off in the kitchen (or what was really just a small stove and a table), Enjolras and Combeferre were hard at work. On something for the Republic? Of course not! They were making a gingerbread house. It had been one of their favorite traditions ever since childhood. They had already finished making the cookie pieces and were now trying to put them all together.

"'Ferre, could you pass the icing," Enjolras asked. Combeferre handed his friend their icing tube (made from an old waistcoat, Courfeyrac would have a heart attack). They fell into a comfortable rhythm, Enjolras laying out the icing trail as Combeferre stuck in the gingerbread pieces. Soon, they had the house all finished, and it was time to add the details. For it wasn't going to be just a gingerbread house; it would be a gingerbread home.

"So what is it going to be this year?" Combeferre asked, truly puzzled. Normally, they would model it after one of their own homes, whichever one seemed more worthy at the time. Enjolras had once convinced him to make Robespierre's home. This year, however, it seemed like they needed something new. After all, they were now living in Paris, on their own for the first time, no overbearing royalist parents or expectations.

"How about the Musain?" Enjolras suggested softly, smiling as he thought about the cafe and their recently formed group of friends. They had been nervous that there would be no like-minded people in Paris, but their fears couldn't have been farther from the truth. Almost immediately, they had discovered a cheery, amiable student named Courfeyrac, who was more than eager to help in any sort of revolt. Soon, between the three of them they had amassed a sizable group, Les Amis de l'ABC, friends of the abased. After a few short months, they already felt like family.

"Alright, the Musain it is," Combeferre declared with a warm smile. The two students began to decorate the gingerbread house, now a gingerbread cafe. The cobbled steps leading up to the door, the fading sign at the front, the windows revealing the cheer within, it was all there. They even included the back door, where they placed a few jelly candies to represent their friends.

"Jehan will be the purple one," Enjolras said pensively. "He does love purple."

"And then the red one should be Courfeyrac, since he's the love of the group," Combeferre suggested. They placed down more candy until their whole group had been assembled outside of the cafe. Each one had some sort of explanation, whether it was Bossuet's clumsiness (his piece of candy was lying down on its side) or Feuilly's love of Poland (they had made him a little flag and everything).

Combeferre and Enjolras gazed proudly at their creation, reminded more and more of the alliances they had made and the good they would do. Neither had noticed it, but somewhere along the way their hands had clasped each other tightly, and remained so, frosting and sugar clinging to them and holiday warmth uniting them as one.


	15. Presents

It was finally Christmas morning, and Grantaire had pulled Enjolras out of bed early to open presents. "It's Christmas! You can't sleep in on Christmas!" he exclaimed, as though he was just a little boy. Enjolras, pleased to see Grantaire seem so young and cheery, gave in and allowed his lover to lead him over to the table.

"Well, since you're so excited, I suppose you should open yours first," Enjolras said with a grin. He picked up a fairly large box from the table and passed it to Grantaire. He ripped it open exuberantly, bits of wrapping paper falling down to the ground like snow. What he saw inside made him gasp in surprise.

"Enjolras, where did you find all of this?" he asked, eyes wide. In the box was an assortment of paints, brushes, and canvases, all of the finest quality.

"You know, just one of the art shops down the road," Enjolras replied. He was relieved that Grantaire liked it so much. He knew nothing of art and had only been guessing as to what Grantaire might need. Clearly, he had guessed right. Grantaire had been longing to start painting again, and this was exactly what he needed.

Grantaire set aside the box before handing Enjolras his own present. Enjolras opened the gift far more carefully than Grantaire had, making careful, neat tears in the paper. However, when he removed the lid, his expression mirrored Grantaire's exactly. Lying in the box was an old, tattered tricolour. Enjolras lifted it up carefully, holding it as if it would fall apart at any moment.

"They said it had been Saint-Just's, back when from the Revolution," Grantaire spoke up nervously. This wasn't the part he was nervous about though. No, that was nestled carefully at the bottom of the box.

"Grantaire, it's beautiful," the blonde breathed out in awe. He examined it for a few minutes more before noticing a tiny pouch still in the box. He set aside the flag before opening the bag and pouring out its contents. In his hand landed a single ring, golden with a bright red ruby at the center.

"That was his, too," Grantaire commented before walking over to his love. "Enjolras, I have loved you for as long as I've known you. These past few months have been like heaven to me, really. And so, I just wanted you to know that I will stand by you until the end." Speech done, Grantaire closed his eyes and looked away, fearing Enjolras' reaction. What if he was unhappy, disgusted even?

"Grantaire," Enjolras whispered gently, lovingly. "But I am doomed to die. We both know this. I'm going to die for the People, and there's no getting around that. I can't ask you to die with me."

"I don't care," Grantaire responded firmly, his fears fading away. "If you die, then I'll die beside you. There's no getting around that either." At those words, Enjolras quickly stood up and wrapped his arms tightly around Grantaire.

"I love you, I really do," he breathed out softly, barely audible. But Grantaire could hear him clearly. And those words were probably the best Christmas present he could've received.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks again to all my reviewers: NieMaMnie, ColonelDespard, ferain1832, Gavroche T, and Orestes Fallen! You guys are the best! :)


	16. Cookies

"No, don't eat those!" Jehan exclaimed, swatting Montparnasse's hands away from the tray of freshly baked cookies.

"Why not?" he grumbled. He didn't see Jehan would bother baking so many cookies and not give him any. Isn't that what this love stuff was all about?

"They're for Santa, silly," Jehan replied as he lowered the last tray of dough into the oven. As he was turned away, he didn't see Montparnasse's jaw drop down to the floor. He did hear his laughter a few seconds later though, and he turned with an indignant look on his face. "Don't you laugh at me. I know he's not real. There's just something so wonderful about the whole tradition."

"I don't see why I can't have any," Montparnasse whined, though he would probably murder anyone who ever dared accuse him of whining.

"Oh, hush," Jehan chided. "Now come on, I've got a few more things I need to pick up."

* * *

That night, all was silent in the tiny apartment. Jehan was deep in sleep, probably dreaming of snow and sugar plum faeries and all that (at least, that's what Montparnasse supposed. In actuality, he was feasting with Dante and a collection of skulls!). Montparnasse decided that now was his chance. He slipped out of bed and tiptoed into the other room, where the cookies were lying on a tray, unguarded at last. He quickly snatched one up and stuffed it into his mouth.

Having at last obtained his goal, any stealth had disappeared. He just sat down, somehow managing to eat louder than anyone would have thought possible. He paid no mind; he already had his reward in hand,... or mouth.

Jehan, having been awakened by his lover's general noisiness, stumbled out of the bedroom bleary eyed and exhausted, finding Montparnasse scarfing down the cookies as if they were the last food on Earth.

"'Parnasse," Jehan muttered angrily, sounding just about as fierce as a little puppy, "what are you doing?" Montparnasse looked up, not looking particularly ashamed. In fact, he continued to stuff his face as if nothing had happened. Jehan rolled his eyes. Two could play at this game.

Jehan walked up to the couch, gait more confident and less sleepy. "You know, there are far better things to do on a cold night like this than eating cookies," he whispered, leaning in close to Montparnasse's ear. "It is rather chilly in here, and, well, I'm sure you can think of a way to... warm things up." Jehan's plan seemed to be working. Montparnasse had set aside the cookies, all his attention directed towards the poet, who was currently nibbling at his ear.

"Well, I suppose we could use a bit of heat," Montparnasse replied huskily, wrapping his arms firmly around Jehan's waist, mouth exploring the young student's exposed neck. Any other thoughts had slipped from his mind entirely. Jehan led his lover back to the bedroom, proud of his victory. And here Montparnasse had claimed he was capable of no trickery.

The cookies laid abandoned on the table, completely forgotten (for the time being at least, but that's another story).

* * *

**A/N:** So from here on out, since I'm already ridiculously late with these, I'm just going to put the remaining ones up one a day in no particular order. I should finish before Epiphany, which technically is the last day of Christmas, so in one sense I'm not too late yet, haha. Thanks again for all the reviews. Love you!


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